Breakfast in the hall swarmed with busy soldiers all scrapping together a meal from their mush. With little options available for the hungry men the stale bread soon disappeared from tattered wooden bowls and the remaining oats turned cold as the fire burned out beneath the pot and hearth.
Jon sat stoically at my side. Sam paralleled our seats. They both filled the bustling morning with light chatter, but the heavy burden that troubled their minds did not go unnoticed as I watched their interaction.
Jon had informed me this morning during our quiet awakening that he must leave me once more. They intended to raid an abandoned village beyond the Wall in hope of much needed supplies. Jon being the honourable King that he was intended to lead the party into the blizzards of the unknown. The men that passed our table with the King and his band of brothers all offered their respects and well wishes as he devoured the dwarfed portion that sat on his plate. Jon humbly dismissed their gratitude, speaking only of duty and the wellbeing of his men. Though the cold wars endured had hardened his once boyish exterior - the man that remained still beat with same kind heart.
"I will return before nightfall. Sam has offered to keep you company in my departure." Jon's gentle voice lured into the present. I turned to Sam, who smiled tentatively and perked up in his seat. "Have you ever stood a top the Wall? It is quite a sight to behold... if you can stomach the height, of course. I could take you there, if you'd like?" Sam rambled in his offer, his shy mannerism steadying my own rusty social habits in sympathy. I smiled warmly at him in hopes of calming his nerves.
"Don't worry if you can't stomach the height," Jon interjected, nudging my shoulder gently with his own, "Sam still stands 10 foot away from the edge if he can manage it." Jon grinned over at his friend and Sam only blushed in return, but laughed along with the King in jest.
"Yes, well it is quite high." He uttered pointedly, looking back to me with a teasing smile now warming rosy cheeks. "Besides, a great fall could kill you. Woman pose no such threat, and yet Jon still loses his nerve when faced with one." I let laughter lift my spirits then, averting my gaze from the now stiffening King that huffed at my side.
"Shut up." Jon scowled and smacked Sam atop the head with his gloves, eyes narrowing with no real menace behind the stare.
Sam rubbed his head sorely and flashed me another of those sheepish smiles. I unthinkingly beamed back at him, decidedly enjoying his company.
The cup that sat before me glinted with the hint of white teeth shimmering in the reflection. It was strange to catch sight of yourself so unguarded. I looked happy. I looked as if I had not come here to lead these men to murder. A nauseating guilt slapped the smile off my face, fading slowly to a desolate stare as the pair continued to slap one another like unruly children across the table.
"It seems you two will be just fine without me. Try to keep Sam from getting too upset when you reach the top of the Wall for me, will you?" Jon looked down at me with another genuine smile. I could see something churning behind his eyes, the same searching look that had greeted me in the woods upon arrival. It made the uneasy feeling in my gut tenfold. Without waiting for my non existent response Jon then readied his sword and left our party to join his own. I kept my eyes downcast as the steady march of boots all fade into the frost.
"If we hurry, we can watch them leave from atop the Wall." Sam proposed, smiling sympathetically at me. Perhaps the man thought I would pine for Jon's return, but my thoughts were already starving for the attention of another. Ramsay was the only antidote to the sickness that corrupted a mottled mind. I had to remember that. I had to remember him. Else I be lost to the kindness of the Night's Watch and fall victim to their complacency. Soft men in a harsh world with a hardened hunter out for their skins. To even warm to their company would be to slit my own throat.
"I told you it was beautiful."
Sam's words didn't do the view below justice. Even the woodlands of Winterfell looked pitiful in comparison to the vast forest that spread for miles and miles until to see them individually was a near impossible task - your eyes instead only comprehending the plant life as a swirling pool of white and green that bristled with the breeze. It only stopped to make way for the mountains that rose from the earth and stared down at the wasteland. Everything looked as wild as the tales foretold and somehow I believed the stories of white walkers and hellish beasts and bloodthirsty giants that lie in wait. What else could possibly survive out there? Certainly no man or woman.
I let padded feet perch precariously at the edge of the frosted flooring, staring out across the wildlands that lurked beyond the Wall.
"You shouldn't stand so close. The winds are quite strong this high." Sam stood six steps behind me, his arm teetering back and forth as if he might catch me if I fall. I didn't fear the breeze. If the winds chose to whisk me to my death then so be it. It would be a far easier way to go than facing the betrayal to come. At least then I could die aimlessly without the choice of failure or guilt to send me to my grave.
I watched silently as Jon and his party all stormed ahead towards the tree line. If I unfocused my eyes they looked like nothing more than the dirt and debris that trailed through the ashen snow. I fleetingly thought about how Jon could die on this raid. The thought turned to sweet hope on my tongue and then became bitter with the aftermath of such an occurrence. Though it might save me from bloodying my own hands it would mean a new end all together. I had no doubt that some of the vultures had caught wind of the King's departure and already stretched their wings to scout for an attack.
"Are you cold? We can head back to the Chambers if you'd like, miss." There was Sam again. Closer than he had been before, what little warmth emitting from his body still noticeable even in the beating winds. I turned slowly to him and shook my head uncertainly.
"Could I stay here until the King's return? The risk of a fall somehow seems safer than the threat on the ground." I did not care to think about the men that seethed of the beating dealt on my behalf. I half expected Sam to shake his head and call me foolish for wishing to stay here withering in the elements, but he only smiled.
"I thought you might say that." He stated surely, pulling a heavy flask and three stale bread rolls from his pockets. He held them up excitedly, before turning to the pit of coals that sat at the watch post we occupied. Sam began to work the blackened coals to fire. He soundlessly kindled at the coal and kindling until flames licked the air above and began to toast the stale rolls.
"They're much better warmed." Sam was speaking absentmindedly about the food, but the gesture had touched something. Something I thought had died a long time ago.
"Thank you."
The statement hung between us. I guessed Sam knew it wasn't just about the stolen bread and wine.
"You seemed like you could use something warm." Sam turned to face me, his smile doing more to lift my spirits than the fire or the bread. How had his sweet nature survived the wars that broke so many others? Even Jon had become harder since our last encounter - his intentions though true were drenched with something darker. Though the King had tried to pull me from the ashes I knew that somehow the desire to help me was something born of a failure in other aspects of his life. Ramsay was another species altogether - everything had to be earned, including the right to continue breathing in his presence. With that meant that everything could also be taken away at the snap of his cold, callous fingers. Every hit, kick and spit posed as a reminder to that.
Sam. Sam seemed simply a good man. With no agenda, no right or reasoning. He simply was.
I sat with Sam long into the day and night. Though he added no pressure to fill my heavy silence I found that he spoke honestly of his own upbringing and the journey that led him here. Sometimes I felt as if he were speaking just to calm my ruined nerves. Perhaps he wanted me to know I simply wasn't alone up here. We shared the wine, we ate the bread, we even laughed when he began to tell stories of the trouble him and a once young, (though never careless,) Jon Snow had caused here in the Watch.
I had spent so many months, years even, listening to Ramsay speak of every man here only as the enemy. Faceless men that deserved the death that would serve. I had listened in silence and never once thought of the good men like Sam that should know nothing but love and joy until their end. I couldn't let the guilt swallow me whole - my intentions were absolute and must stay that way, but it felt good to breathe the clean air and laugh without fear of breaking the deathly silence that both Jon and Ramsay always created upon their arrival.
"Is Ghost really your name?" Sam asked quizzically, poking at the fire as darkness consumed the rest of the world.
The question shook me out of my jolly stupor. I took a moment to collect myself.
"Yes, Ghost is really my name."
Ramsay had named me Ghost the day he found me on the road. Beaten and bloody I had lied before my Lord, at loss with the world and wholly consumed by the men in it before his saviour. It took a day to break me. I remember the ordeal vividly, but I remember the silence that followed the torture more than any whip or chain. I remember the way he looked at me as I wept silently into his hand and let bruised cheeks rest in his open palm - how once dull eyes lit up like a beacon that called my conscience back to him even as the heavy tug of exhaustion threatened to pull me under. I listened to his voice when I couldn't stand the sound of my own thoughts any more. I listened hard and responded accordingly to his mood and somehow it became easier than dealing with any of the pain inflicted on his darkest days. A once terrifying captor became a comforting familiarity in a world that had never showed me any other kindness. You cannot fix a broken thing. You cannot call a stick a sword and you cannot call a slave a woman or title her in any such manner. I did not care to remember past lives or names or the many guttural slurs that had been spat down at me by previous soldiers and street men alike. Ghost is what he had named me and Ghost shall remain my name.
Sam rose from beside me and offered out a hand that looked more like a paw bound in leather. "Jon has returned," he murmured seriously, frowning out into the darkness as a single torch shot from the tree line like an arrow in the darkness, "alone."
The King arrived with a black cloud storming above his bloody head. He waited with his mouth pursed into a grim line in the courtyard as his brothers gathered round full flock in the snow. The King had returned with no supplies or men at his side. Alone he stood with a temper seemingly as wild as the Dire Wolf that sat silently at his hip - the beast looked war torn and a once gleaming coat now muddied in the blood of enemies and its companions. Jon was bloodied from head to toe, his sword dripped with the remains of the fallen and his face spoke only of the darkness that had unfolded during the failed raid.
"It seems the Night's Watch has more enemies than one, my brothers. A man in this very council informed me of the abandoned village and spoke of food and supplies that might save us through the winter. All that lie in wait for us at that village was an ambush. Premeditated by savages - savages that should have no means of such regimented war stratedgies." He gritted his teeth despairingly and the grip on his blade tightened. "A trap. No, more than that. A betrayal."
Jon couldn't quite bottle the rage that leaked from his ears and eyes. Even the tone of his voice seemed strained with the effort of not screaming at the men before him. The uneasy murmur of now outraged soldiers all bristled at my sides. I could not take my eyes off of the bloody King, who swept one mangled hand through unkempt hair as if to push back the rage. So angry. Yet somehow, he bit down on his tongue and burned with the effort of controlling his demons.
"I will give this man one chance to stand forward and admit his treachery before you all. To apologise for the men that now lie dead beyond the wall at his cowardice. A moment to redeem his honour before his execution."
The offering seemed more of a threat. No man stepped forward to repent for his sins. The torchlight licked at Jon's wounds dangerously - his face and once broad stance now broken and failing by the battle he had endured. The King looked at home in the bloodshed. That hardened edge that I had only caught glimpses of upon arrival was now as as stark as the stars above that sat defiantly in the night sky. They belonged there.
"Six men left this morning. Only one returns. Only one must pay." Jon scowled down at his men and I watched the patience dissipate behind a now blackening stare as he turned to face the crowd at large. "Elgrin Brask."
The heavy bustle of armour clinking and the uproar of the traitor erupted in the night. A silent flurry of eyes swept the courtyard, quickly locating the traitor and ripping him from the shadows. Elgrin Blask kicked and shoved and fought every man that dare lay a hand on him, but the night's watch swarmed calmly at their target and within moments the weasel was kneeling before the wolf.
"I was under threat, your Grace! I beg of you! I am a brother. I do not deserve this end!"
"You are no brother of ours."
Elgrin's already rodent like features screwed up in a faux remorse, tears touching his cheeks as he bowed time and time again before the statue that rose above him. I had seen many men and women beg for their life. Ramsay had always enjoyed making a spectacle of their final few moments. Not Jon. Even through all that anger I could still see the traces of hurt that hid behind a now eerily composed complexion.
Jon began to recite the oaths any good Lord would speak before an execution. I had zoned out entirely, captivated by his face. It was as if Jon had now switched off his emotions - where once a young boy and a good man had rested were now only the the pain and duty of a King. There was no excitement in his eyes as the man was wrestled down to the wood. The constant mention of the God's did nothing to make the Wolf King feel any more holy. I had never witnessed such a blinding remorse for killing from a man - much less a solider or a King. Jon was a new breed altogether. Yet still he held his sword high and took a final breath to make peace with his decision. It was only as he let the heavy weight of the metal collide with Elgrin Blask's wiry neck that he snapped his head out and found me in the crowd. His eyes bore down on me and that once searching look had now settled into a woeful contempt that had my hackles raised before he opened his mouth.
"There is no pride in killing our enemies, but much less there is no honour in killing our own. I hope if nothing else this serves as a lesson to those that consider betrayal as an easy way out. There is no honesty amongst thieves nor liars. All that waits for you is death. Whether it by my sword or another's."
Jon never took his eyes off of me.
The smell of blood in the air and the icy gaze that came tumbling down on me from Jon and his men set my nerves on fire. I wanted to run. I needed to run. It seems the execution was a spectacle indeed all in honour of my presence.
The game was over.
The King knew.
I was as good as dead.